Forgotten Sins (Sin Brothers, #1)(13)
She found him at the kitchen table, eating the rest of the cold lasagna. “You’re hungry again?”
He finished chewing. “I like your cooking.”
The T-shirt landed on the table with a quick toss. “I have one of your old shirts. It’s clean.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his gaze on the shirt. “Am I supposed to read something into this?” Deep and dark, his voice lowered to a rumble that sped up her heart.
“No.” Only that she hadn’t gotten over him yet. No matter how hard she tried to lie to herself. “Some of your clothes must’ve been mixed up with mine when I moved.” Nothing would make her admit she also kept a shirt of his she refused to wash, hidden in the back of her closet. Even after two years, his unique male scent still clung to the worn cotton.
“All right.” He whipped off the bloodied shirt and pulled on the clean one. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” One glimpse at his impressive chest and she wanted to lick him head-to-toe. Man, she needed to get herself under control. She grabbed a jacket from the small closet near the door. The emotional walls between them were suffocating her, and she needed to get outside. “We should get going.”
Shane nodded, unfolded himself from the kitchen chair, and opened the door slowly and deliberately. “Okay.”
Concern stilled her movement. “Are you all right?”
“Yep. Just a headache. I’ll drive.”
Josie thought about arguing. But why bother? He’d end up driving, and frankly, driving at night wasn’t her favorite activity. She’d liked that about Shane during their brief marriage. Driving was a pleasure for him, and she could just sit back and relax during the ride. “Whatever.”
She waited until he’d backed them out of the driveway before giving him directions. They drove in silence until he reached town. Josie picked distractedly at a fray on her jeans. “Any memories come back?” Only stubborn will kept her gaze off the capable hands on the steering wheel. She’d loved those hands.
“No.” Shane glanced again at the rearview mirror.
Josie turned to look at the cars behind them. “What are you searching for?”
“The van that followed us earlier today.”
Maybe his concussion was worse than they thought. “I think your imagination took over. You do have a head injury.”
“Perhaps.” He checked behind them again. Frustration and doubt slid across his face, to be masked by a pleasant smile. One that didn’t fool her a bit. “Regardless, I don’t sense any danger now.”
Yep. He still kept secrets now, didn’t he? Josie turned her focus to the night outside the car.
Shane exited the freeway, drove for a mile, and parked the SUV in front of the three-story brick building. Bright lights surrounded the station, banishing the night. Jumping out, he crossed to open her door before she grabbed the handle. Strong hands helped her out of the vehicle, where the autumn breeze cut into her skin.
“Ah, Josie? How about letting me do the talking with the detective?” The door shut with a soft click, and Shane gestured her forward.
“Why?” She was perfectly capable of answering questions from the police. Not only had she done nothing wrong, but she’d grown up in foster care. Dealing with authority and its agenda was nothing new for her.
Shane opened the door. “I have a feeling Malloy is after something. I don’t like that he didn’t tell you any details about his new developments.”
She was surrounded by manipulative people keeping hidden agendas, and that included Shane. Even if the amnesia was real, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the truth.
The waiting room of the police station held two leather couches, a myriad of live plants, and several wide orange chairs. Homey and comfortable. A slice of small town in a city that had grown unexpectedly. A forty-something woman with riotous red hair sat behind a broad counter walled off by thick glass, humming contentedly through the night shift. Behind her spread a wall of photos depicting police officers at various award ceremonies. She smiled and spoke through the speaker, her voice emerging tinny. “May I help you?”
Shane stepped forward to answer just as a buzzer rasped and a door opened next to the counter. Malloy held it open with one beefy hand. “Come on in.”
Josie pivoted to walk into a wide, quiet hallway. Shane’s broad hand settled at the small of her back, pressing her along. Possessive and protective—completely in charge. She’d forgotten that feeling of being his.
Several closed doors lined the hall as the three approached a large double door that blocked the hub of the police station from the public. Malloy pushed open a scratched metal door, gesturing them inside a conference room with a thick oak table and leather chairs. Josie slid into the chair Shane pulled out for her, glancing at the pleasant watercolor of a snowy mountain scene adorning the side wall. “Where’s the two-way mirror?” she asked.
Malloy snorted, walking around the table to sit and drop manila folders on the polished wood. “The interrogation rooms are closer to the cells. This is just a meeting room.”
Shane sat next to Josie. “Right. Exactly what are we meeting about, Detective?”
Josie leaned back in her chair and away from the comfort she’d find leaning into Shane.
Malloy rubbed his chin, studying them with shrewd and tired-looking eyes. He’d discarded the rumpled suit coat and old tie, rolling his shirt up to reveal dark hair along his arms. He focused on Shane. “Have any of your memories returned?”